2,760 Miles

"The Friendly Wolf" 10" x 10" acrylic on canvas [Click on the image to enlarge.]

Okay, I hate to brag, but the average wolf does not migrate.  He might trek as far as 70 miles, following migratory prey, before he settles down again to join a pack, or establish his own new territory.

But this wolf has traveled 2,760 miles from Miami to a city north of Los Angeles.  He arrives today at his new home, hopefully in one piece.  He certainly should.  The bubble wrap is so thick that I could have used the wrapped canvas as a pillow and still not damaged it. 

Ah, the anxiety of shipment.

This was a commission, and a joy to do.  There is a lot of layering in this piece, and many colors.  In fact, the wolf had so many colors that at one point I had to put the canvas aside to decide what to do.  It was too much.  Eventually I knew what I needed, a transparent brown.  And lo and behold Winsor & Newton came out with a new color called, appropriately, Transparent Brown.  Voila!  It worked as advertised, to great effect.  And, like a few of my other paintings, I made liberal use of the rubber spatula tool towards the end.  So far, for me, it is much better than a palette knife.


One personal joy in painting this wolf was the knowledge that it is going to hang in the room of an autistic young man.  I hope that it brings him great pleasure.  I'm partial to the unique plight of autistic individuals because, as you may remember, my son is autistic.

And for the record, my son didn't show any interest at all in the wolf.  In fact he has never paid any attention to any of my art.  That is, until recently.   When he did, it was quite a surprise.  He walked to the dinner table carrying an illustration I'd done, saying, "Look! Look!" with a big smile on his face.  This is what he was carrying: 

10" x 13" Ink and watercolor

Sigh. 

A Special Mother's Day

Watercolor on 8" x 10" Daler-Rowney Langton Prestige NOT paper
Beneath the Bamboo with Dragonflies (Click to Enlarge)

Motherhood.  The word often brings to mind the comfort, joy and security of our own mothers.  And this is wonderful.  But it is more than that.

There are mothers that must face the loss of a child.  This is a loss that does not end.  There are mothers that must cope on a daily basis with extraordinary physical, mental, or behavioral needs of their child.

In both instances, there is a loss of expectations, of hopes and of dreams, but still these moms persevere and provide as they can.

This post is for them, and for my wife, among them, on Mother's Day.

So for you special mothers, for all of you, is a poem. And I hope you'll forgive me, but it was written by a man.  It is not peaceful, not even optimistic really, but defiant.  Because you must think of yourself too.

And whether or not you are a mother, or a parent, you must cope with life's challenges, and this poem can be for you too.



the laughing heart
by Charles Bukowski

your life is your life.
don't let it be clubbed into dank
submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the
darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you
chances.
know them, take them.
you can't beat death but
you can beat death
in life,
sometimes.
and the more often you
learn to do it,
the more light there will
be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have
it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in
you.


[Note:  I painted this watercolor at Fairchild Tropical Gardens, as a gift for my wife on Mother's Day.  She loves bamboo and dragonflies, as well she should.   Happy Mother's Day!]

On Target: Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes & Father's Day Thoughts: On Being a Father

At the Supertarget at the counter in the eating area, my target was a blonde girl with an unusual outfit: she wore a white medical jacket, a black baseball cap, long black pants and black sneakers. She also had a small black purse - I guess you could say that the purse matched the outfit. She didn't see me drawing her, and I had plenty of time. She left when I was leaving.

This sketch in public is a step forward for me in a few ways: First, I think it is the first time in a restaurant environment that I managed to draw an entire person. Woohoo! Second, I applied all of the watercolors, there, on site. For me this is very new. I have only just begun using colors in my sketches.



Lamy Safari with Noodlers ink and watercolors in a Moleskine


This drawing meets Everyday Matters challenge no. 36 - Draw out in Public. While I have drawn in public many times before, drawing in ink and then applying watercolor on site, and actually completing the person, makes me grab this challenge like a prize!

It's just a few hours till Father's Day, so please excuse me while I depart from the usual subject of art, and indulge in some fatherly rambling and occasional bragging about my sons (as this doddering old fool will sometimes do). Before I begin I will mention that because it is Father's Day, the boys' mother is not mentioned. This is, of course, a crime, because their mother, my wife, is wholly dedicated to her boys in every way possible. She worries more than I do, feels more than I do, works more than I do, and loves the boys with every ounce of her soul. But, sorry mom, it is Father's Day. Crime committed.

My oldest son, Ian, age 19, has never been so far away from us before. He is in college majoring in chemical engineering, and for a semester he is studying abroad in France and exploring Europe. What a young man he has become! Besides doing very well in school (his job, I know, but he does his job well), he has come to be a responsible, self-reliant, honest, moral, and self-reflecting individual. I could not be more proud than to have Ian as my son. I miss him, and look forward to stealing what time I can with him during the week between semesters. (Yes, and though written in the third person, this message is for you, Ian. I love you.)

My youngest, Matthew, is 13-years-old, and of course he is still at home. What is unusual is that he will probably always live at home. He will not read this post. Matthew is autistic.

Matt has taught me more about what it means to be a father than I ever knew that there was to learn. He is a constant challenge. Still, he is always moving forward, though slowly. Since for many parents of autistic children, there is no progress at all, this is a blessing. It gives me some hope. He tests the limits of my abilities and dedication, but he has taught me to be more even-tempered, more patient, and more empathetic. In sum, I am a better person because of Matthew. Most of my worries are for Matt - who he will become, what he can accomplish, what life he can live - but with all of the complexities that is Matthew in sum, life is richer for having him as my son.

Being a father is not unique. Everyone on earth has had a father, of course. But for me, fatherhood is rare. And it is precious.